Fallen Heroes
by JAFootnote
Summary: There are heroes and there are villains. And there are times when the two share an existence in which they are not mutually exclusive. HumanAU
1. Chapter 1

He could feel _it_ seeping into his clothing, slowly, eerily. He kept his eyes shut tight. He knew what _it_ was; how could he not? _It_ wasn't his, he knew that too. What he didn't know was _who it_ belonged to. He clenched his hands, feeling the sickeningly familiar outline of a Bowie knife in one and remained kneeling in his spot. He didn't want to know whose _it_ was, he didn't want to open his eyes…But he knew he had to.

The first thing he saw were his fatigues stained with a red substance that could only be one thing. He could feel it drying on his face as well. Bile tried to make its way up his throat, but he swallowed it back down. Just as he thought, _it_ was blood.

So who was it this time? A family man on his way home from work? A young woman enjoying a night on the town who happened to drunkenly stumble into the wrong alleyway? Perhaps a sunken eyed, foul smelling hobo who no one would miss anyway.

Swallowing back saliva and bile, the blood covered man hesitantly raised his head to see who had come to an end by his hands.

He regretted it immediately.

Blood covered the figure's blue locks while more formed a puddle around its head, like a sickening red halo. The figure's eyes, - _Oh God his eyes_ –those blue eyes that at one time had been so bright were now cold and lifeless.

The bloodstained man trembled violently wanting more than anything to tear his eyes away from the unblinking ones that unrelentingly held his gaze. He knew those eyes. How could he not? So many times he had looked into them with nothing but adoration and kissed their lids at night when they began to droop from exhaustion. He had loved them…just as he loved the person they belonged to.

"Tyler?" He called hesitantly, tentatively, as if doing so would make the image disappear. But there it stayed. The bloodstained man's breath hitched and his shaking worsened. "No." He breathed out. "No. Not him. Anyone but him. ANYONE! Just not Tyler." A sob wrenched itself from the man's throat as tears skewed the bloody image. "Not Tyler." He whimpered pathetically.

"Not Tyler?" A gravelly voice questioned. The bloodstained man stiffened at the sound. "Of course Tyler. Monsters like you always kill the people you love most."

"I'm not the monster. It's you. You did this!" The bloodstained man snapped and whirled around coming face to face with…himself. But it _wasn't_ him. The other man was clad in bloodstained fatigues as well and looked as much a mirror image of him as one could, messy green hair and all. But the eyes, the other's eyes were not the green of his but a sickening yellow.

"You're still denying it?" The yellow eyed doppelganger grinned condescendingly. He pointed at the bloodstained man. "That's Tyler's blood on you."

"I would never hurt Tyler! Never! It was you!"

"I AM YOU!" The doppelganger bellowed. "We're one in the same, don't you get that? You killed Tyler just like you killed all those people before him."

The bloodstained man slammed his hands over his ears. "Stop it!" The doppelganger's frown deepened for a moment before he grinned widely.

"I don't know why you're trying so hard to deny it, deny _me_. You're really only denying yourself you know. I'm just a scapegoat; you're the mastermind here."

"I said Stop it!"

The doppelganger continued. "Come on, don't be like that Marty. Hey, you want me to tell you how you killed Ty over there?"

"Marty" shook his head furiously, letting out a desperate keening sound.

"Well first you punched him nice and hard in the gut. Just hard enough to bring him to his knees and make him the right amount of disoriented. Then you bent down to his level and he looked at you all terrified and oh so confused and gasped 'Martin why?'"

"Stop." Martin ground out through gritted teeth as the heels of his hands pushed harder against his ears.

"Then you smiled at him, almost like you were trying to say that everything was gonna be alright. And he got this little spark of hope in his eyes and that amused the hell outta ya. You ran your hand gently through his hair like you always did. But this time you tightened your fingers and pulled hard. He yelped but before he could make another sound you yanked his head back for a second before slamming it hard into the floor."

"No!"

"Yes. And you did that over, and over, and over again until there was blood all over ya and Ty's eyes got that wonderful cold look. You wanna know what you did next?" Without waiting for a reply the doppelganger grinned and said, "You laughed! You sat back and laughed _real_ hard! Not because it was funny. No, you laughed because you enjoyed it! Because it made you feel so good, it was like a release. You enjoy killing, you _love_ watching the light leave people's eyes. And Tyler? Killing him was the most fun you've ever had."

"LIAR!" Martin lunged at the doppelganger and knocked him flat on his back, his hands grasping his collar so hard, his knuckles turned white. " _You_ killed Tyler! You killed all those people! It was _you_! It wasn't me, it was you! I wouldn't have. I'm-"

"Me." The doppelganger finished, speaking with a surprisingly gentle tone. Tears returned to Martin's eyes and he slowly released the doppelganger's collar. Limply, he slid off the other and plopped on the cold, hard floor beside him. Martin's eyes roamed to Tyler's, _his_ Tyler's, body and tears slid down his cheeks as he choked on broken sobs.

The doppelganger waited a bit before whispering, "You remember that name they gave you after you murdered your way out of captivity?" Yellow eyes stared at the pitch black darkness above them. "Probably couldn't believe their eyes, seeing "never hurt a fly" Marty with all that blood on his hands. They come to save you but find out they didn't have to. Seeing you sitting there, covered in blood with bodies piled up around you. You were never the same after that, always on edge, couldn't take a joke, hell, you even snapped at your squad mates for something as simple as 'coughing too loud'. Remember what they used to call you?"

When Martin spoke it was hardly above a whisper. "Flippy."

A small smile slowly made its way onto the doppelganger's face. "Flippy. You never liked it but me, I thought it was perfect. Took it on as my own. Now all of Treeopolis lives in fear of that name and the monster behind it." A slight pause. "…And no one is safe." The yellow eyes doppelganger finished quietly, his eyes slipping closed.

Martin dragged his legs to his chest and sobbed out Tyler's name over and over again like a mantra, his tears turning red as they mixed with the blood on his face.

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"Martin." Green eyes popped open and anxiously surveyed their surroundings until they made contact with concerned blue ones.

Martin took a moment to simply stare at the figure who sat up looking worriedly down at him. Gentle fingers combed through Marin's green locks which were in as much disarray as the figure's blue ones. "Tyler." He breathed out softly in what only could have been pure relief. With slightly shaking fingers, Martin grasped the hand that was sliding through his hair and placed it above his rapidly beating heart. Gradually, his heart beat slowed to a normal rhythm and it was then that Tyler spoke.

"You were having another nightmare. You were calling my name out in your sleep." His only answer was Martin's hand tightening around his own. Tyler waited another moment before speaking. "Are you sure you don't wanna talk about-"

"No." Martin responded, cutting Tyler off. Then, realizing that he was a bit harsh, he said, "I'm sorry." Sighing he placed a kiss to Tyler's palm before replacing his hand above his heart. But Tyler just smiled and shook his head.

"It's alright. We'll talk about it when you're ready." He squeezed Martin's hand before sliding off the bed.

"Where are you going?" Martin asked, worried that he actually had offended Tyler.

Smiling that gentle smile that made Martin's heart squeeze with affection the bluette placed a chaste kiss on Martin's fevered forehead. "Going to get you some water, silly." With a slight chuckle Tyler padded quietly out of the bedroom.

Martin kept his eyes trained on Tyler's form as he exited the room. Once he was gone, Martin's eyes moved to the ceiling and he exhaled heavily. He was left alone with his thoughts which, of course, weren't good ones. The doppelganger's final words eerily repeated over and over again in his head. _…And no one is safe_.

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 _Hello everyone!~_

 _Here stands my confession of love for FlippyxSplendid. They're absolutely perfect for each other. (I have no idea how we fangirls read yaoi into this one but whatever)_

 _Anywho I know it's most likely confusing with the absence of the original HTF names, so in case you haven't realized Martin is Flippy and Tyler is Splendid. These are simply names I have selected to give the story more realism. As more characters arise I'll make sure to let you know._

 _This is my first HTF fic, so be gentle, ne?_

 _Thank you for reading._


	2. Chapter 2

Martin was raised in an orphanage. He never knew his parents and was never told anything about who they were or how they died. Sometimes, when he found he couldn't sleep amongst the loud snores of his several roommates, he'd stare into the darkness and imagine little details about them. He only imagined a few at a time so that he wouldn't complete the picture too quickly.

"I bet my mom had long beautiful hair." Little Martin would whisper to himself. "And my dad was a _doctor_ or maybe a _detective_!" He would also imagine that he was only in the orphanage because his parents died and he had no other relatives and not because they didn't want him. His imaginings were never confirmed but it comforted him to believe that at one time he had had a family who loved him and that his being in an orphanage was only the result of an unfortunate accident.

When Martin turned eighteen, he did what most orphaned young men did. He joined the war. This decision surprised everyone in the orphanage who always knew Martin as a gentle and timid young man. They had always believed Martin would simply continue his studies, get a good job, and settle down with some nice girl.

This was a fate Martin had always been resolved against. Why should he sit safe at home while every other young man his age was standing up and fighting? No. Martin would join the fight; he would go to war.

Martin had always been a dutiful boy so the training, though physically taxing, was something he had little trouble adapting to and taking orders came natural to him. His mild mannered personality made it easy for people to warm up to him and Martin quickly made friends in his platoon.

Soon after the training was completed, many platoons were immediately sent into battle. As soon as the troops landed on the foreign shores, Martin and his platoon members were assigned an infiltration mission into enemy territory.

Nervous, but determined to make a strong contribution to the war effort, Martin and his comrades (Todd "Camo" Evans: reconnaissance expert and Pierre "Ka-boom" Bonaparte: demolitions expert) eagerly accepted the mission.

The plan was not only easy to execute but was said to be fool proof as well. The mission was generally expected to go off without a hitch.

But that wasn't what happened. Martin's timing was off, he screwed up…and it cost Evans and Bonaparte their lives and Martin his sanity. He was surrounded and taken captive by enemy soldiers and extensively tortured. Then he was forced to watch as his dead comrades' bodies were further mutilated and paraded around the camp for the enemy to poke at and ridicule.

Martin couldn't explain how it happened but as soon as one of the enemy soldiers (who was fittingly called _Executioner_ ) began to approach him with the tool that was going to end his life, since he was deemed to possess no important information, he snapped. He couldn't recall anything after that until his fellow soldiers found him in that dank room, covered in blood and surrounded by dead bodies.

Not long after that, Martin was honorably discharged from service. It was after his return that _HE_ appeared.

Martin was working alone in the mailroom (essentially the only job for an army vet with PTSD) when he heard it.

" _Marty_ ~" Martin stopped sorting through the letters in front of him, his eyes darting around nervously. Had he imagined that? He certainly hoped so. " _Marty~_ " The voice called again and Martin spun around, his breath hitching. Before him stood himself in the same fatigues he had worn during his time in the army. Martin slid down to the floor, his eyes never leaving the figure in front of him.

"Wha-" Martin breathed out, terrified.

" _What am I_?" The figure suggested. " _Come on Marty, you're not that dumb are you? I'm you obviously. This whole encounter is happening right up here._ " The doppelganger tapped his head and grinned.

"What do you want?" Martin asked backing away as the doppelganger advanced.

His double's yellow eyes lit up. " _I want out Marty. It's been too long since I last had fun._ " He laughed at Martin's confused expression. " _You remember don't you? In the camp?_ "

Martin's eyes widened further. "No! No, I won't-!"

" _Well of course you won't. But I will._ "

"But you said you are me." Martin argued weakly, cringing under the double's intense stare.

" _Well for your conscience's sake, you can think of us as two separate entities. Either way I'm getting out tonight._ "

Everything went black for Martin then. The next day, news of a horrible murder hit the city and the appropriate panic followed. And Martin disposed of his blood stained clothes, his conscience none the lighter.

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Three months and five murders later, was when Martin met Tyler Clark, ace reporter for the _Daily World_.

Martin was hurrying to work, his head bowed and his eyes trained on the ground avoiding contact with anyone he passed. This habit caused him to be unaware of the person in front of him and thus he bumped into said person.

"I-I'm sorry." Martin murmured, starting to continue on his way without looking up. His arm was suddenly but gently grabbed. This contact would usually have sent Martin's PTSD nerves into overdrive. But something about this insistent touch calmed him rather than rattled him. Curious to the reason, Martin turned cautiously to the stranger.

Before him stood a guy who was a little over a head shorter than him with royal blue hair and matching eyes framed by glasses. The man released him, grinning semi-apologetically as he did so. "Sorry, if I surprised you." He fished inside of the jean jacket he was wearing and pulled out a card which he handed to Martin.

Martin stared at the card in his hand. It read: _Tyler Clark, Lead journalist, Daily World._ A reporter? Anxiety suddenly shot through him. Why would a reporter want to talk to him? Had he somehow connected Flippy's murders back to Martin?

"Um, I don't-" He started nervously, holding the card awkwardly.

"It's you." Martin froze. Did he know-? "You're the citizen who I'm going to write a random article on!" Confused, Martin continued to stare at the man blankly. "Ya see I'm trying to prove that anybody and everybody has a story worth writing about. So, I decided to write an article on the first Treeopolis citizen I bumped into." The journalist chuckled. "Didn't realize it would be literally though."

Martin was preparing to insist that he wasn't at all interesting, when the time on his watch caught his attention. If he stayed any longer he would be late and that thought alone caused adrenaline to shoot through him. No, no, _no_. He couldn't afford a panic attack now. Not when Flippy's urges had been gradually strengthening. "I don't have any stories to tell." Martin muttered tightly before maneuvering around the journalist and continuing on his path.

"What about the army?"

Martin stopped in his tracks and turned around in terrified surprise. "How-" The journalist tapped his own chest. Martin looked down at his, and noticed the glinting silver around his neck. Keeping his dog tags on at all times was a habit from when they were the only things he could hope to be identified by.

"Noticed them when I bumped into you." Tyler stated. Then shrugging, "It's okay if you can't talk now, you're probably headed to work." The corners of the reporter's mouth slipped up in a smirk. "But I will be writing my article on you. I can be pretty stubborn when I want a story bad enough." Then with a casual wave, Tyler turned and walked away in the opposite direction.

Martin stood staring after him, slightly unnerved. He looked down at the card still in his hand and then shoved it into the pocket of his jacket before going on his way. Breathing deeply, he reassured himself that if he made a slight change to his usual route to work, his chances of running into Tyler Clark would be next to nothing.

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 _Another chapter done, ne! Huzzah, hurrah, and all that jazz. Now, the two mentioned soldiers, Todd and Pierre, are Toad and Ka-boom Mouse, respectively from the Flippy W.A.R. short. Ne, I thought it was important that they got their spotlight as well._

 _Thank you for reading._


	3. Chapter 3

Clearly, Martin was wrong and clearly he had underestimated the stubbornness of the reporter.

He ruminated on this as he stood standing in the doorway of his apartment and looking at the goofy grin of the reporter across from him.

"Good morning, Martin!~" Tyler chirped enthusiastically. Martin grimaced and gritted his teeth. Wasn't it too early for anyone to be this loud?

"What are you doing here?" Martin grumbled cautiously.

Tyler tilted his head to the side as if confused. "Whaddya mean? I told you I was gonna write a story on you, right? You changing your route to work wasn't gonna stop me." A knowing grin spread on Tyler's face as he said the last part and Martin flushed crimson in response.

He warily met Tyler's eyes. "Do I even want to know how you found out where I live?"

"City Hall isn't too secretive about these things." The reporter responded without a beat. Martin felt himself losing faith in the system. "Aren't you gonna invite me in?" Tyler asked expectantly.

"No." Martin replied immediately. But before he could close the door and ban the reporter from his apartment- _unless he picked the lock, but he wouldn't seriously go that far, would he?_ -Tyler thrust his arm through the doorway, a white bag in his hand. Martin flinched but fought the urge to react violently to the small surprise.

"I brought breakfast." Tyler stated as if this would grant him immediate access.

"I don't-" A loud rumbling sound interrupted Martin's dismissal of the offending bag with the pleasantly wafting aroma. Martin shut his mouth quickly and simply looked back at Tyler who appeared to be trying not to laugh, his blue eyes shining with mirth. Ignoring the burning in his cheeks and sighing, Martin stepped aside and Tyler joyfully bounded past him into the apartment, dropping the white bag into Martin's hands as he did so.

Closing the door, Martin silently followed Tyler with his eyes before opening the bag. He put his hand in and pulled out a warm muffin whose smell strengthened now that it was free of the white bag. Eyes shifting back to the reporter who was eagerly glancing around him with a notepad and pencil- _that had appeared to materialize out of nowhere_ -in his hand, Martin cautiously took a bit of the muffin.

The moment it met his tongue, the chocolate muffin melted in his mouth, causing a wonderful tingling sensation to spread over his taste buds. Martin swallowed and then, addressing Tyler, "Where did you buy these?"

Tyler turned his head slightly and raised an eyebrow. "Buy what?" He responded.

Martin lifted the muffin he had taken a bite out of in indication. "These."

"Oh, I made those." Tyler answered simply. "I figured they would be an equivalent exchange for the story." The grin that spread across his face could only be described as cheeky.

"I keep telling you, I don't have a story to tell." Martin grumbled before taking another bite of his muffin.

"And I keep telling _you_ that that's impossible." Tyler plopped himself- _uninvited, Martin did add_ -at the table in the small kitchenette adjacent from the front door. Making a show of placing his notepad and pen at the ready in front of him, the reporter looked expectantly at Martin who had not moved from the doorway.

Martin sighed as he walked the few feet to the table and sat across from Tyler placing the bag of muffins to the side between them.

"The army?" Tyler started without missing a beat. Martin silently met Tyler's determined stare with one of his own.

 _What's wrong with talking about the glory days Marty?_

Martin felt his stomach turning and his jaw tightened automatically, his fists clenching on his knees. 'Shut up!' He yelled at the voice. 'Just shut up!'

"If you'd like, we can talk about your painting instead." Martin's head snapped up in shock. He was no artist, but he painted from time to time, allowing his brush strokes to fully occupy his mind, in order to keep Flippy at bay (if only for a little while). But how did this reporter-?

Tyler smiled softly and pointed to the sleeve of Martin's shirt. Martin looked down and saw a few old splotches of dried paint on the cuff of his sleeve.

"I also saw some brushes on the table near your couch." Tyler supplied. "So would that be okay? Do you have any here?"

Martin considered his options for a moment. He kept his paintings in a small closet opposite his bedroom. There were no remnants of Flippy's escapades anywhere in the apartment- _Martin always made certain of that, searching the space with a fine tooth comb_ -and, really, it was better to have the reporter keep away from the army questions.

"I do." Martin replied after what felt like an eternity.

"Would it be alright if you showed me?" Tyler asked, standing immediately.

 _Just don't show him who you really are, Marty. He probably won't like that._ A cruel chuckle to punctuate the words.

Martin stood and led the way down the hall with Tyler close behind him. Opening the door to the closet, and pulling on the light switch, Martin stepped aside to allow Tyler access to the room.

Tyler's eyes seemed to hold the desire to be everywhere at once. Three paintings in total lined the walls, two leaning against them directly and one, the latest, resting on a stand between the others. This was the one that had the strongest hold on Tyler's focus.

The painting was inspired by a memory Martin had of observing a sunrise overseas. A memory that was tainted, as shown by the random splotches of red that adorned the landscape, by the persistent remembrance of the failed mission.

Martin looked away to prevent any of his feelings from surfacing. He only looked back when a small, sad sound met his ears. Bewildered, he stared at the reporter whose shoulders were shaking spasmodically.

"Are you…" Martin drifted off awkwardly. Tyler jumped as if Martin's speaking was a sudden reminder that he wasn't alone in the tiny space.

"I'm sorry." Tyler blubbered pitifully. "It's just…it feels so sad and lonely. Like you wished for the ideal but were the only one who got reality."

Martin froze as Tyler wiped away his tears in embarrassment. How was it possible that this reporter, who knew nothing of Martin's tragedy, was able to sum up the deepest agonies of his soul in only a few words? A surge of gratefulness to and terror of Tyler rose and clashed within him.

"I think," Tyler cleared his throat to get rid of the hitch in his voice. "No, I _know_ I can write a story that can do you justice Martin." Tyler turned to Martin almost shyly. "If you'll let me."

Martin couldn't speak and so he only nodded slowly in response. Neither spoke for a few moments, the connection between their eyes never breaking. Martin's heart raced a mile a minute as his head swam in confusion. What was happening? It was like a panic attack but not. It was lighter and Martin couldn't help feeling that something deep within him was shifting.

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Two weeks, one day, and eighteen hours later, Tyler Clark reappeared in Martin Price's doorway holding what looked like a plaque. He had written the story, framed it, and was offering it to Martin as a gift. The two stood side by side, gazing at the article.

"It's so you'll always know you have a story." Tyler said, smiling at Martin.

Martin didn't know who had moved first, but the next thing he knew, Tyler was warm and surprisingly soft against him, their lips connected chastely. He gave in completely to the sensation of Tyler's skin underneath his fingertips, of being inside him. Martin had doubts and Flippy sneered but he ignored it all and focused on nothing but Tyler's eyes, his scent, his warmth, and the pleasure they shared.

And when Tyler sighed " _Oh Martin_ " with his lips pressed to the shell of Martin's ear, Martin knew that the shift was completed.

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 _Ne, it's been a while, hasn't it? I've been busy with other stories and wanted to wait until I could give this my full attention. There's just something about a mentally troubled guy in uniform, ne~_

 _Thank you for reading._


	4. Chapter 4

It didn't take long for fear to override Martin's newfound comfort with Tyler. The possibility that he might hurt Tyler, paralyzed him with terror and made him avoid the reporter at all costs. When Martin opened his front door to step out for some cigarettes (another thing which abated his anxiety), he was honestly shocked to see tearful blue eyes appraising him.

Tyler asked if Martin regretted what they had done. Martin did not. He told Tyler so. Then he asked if that was the case, why was Martin avoiding him. Martin bit his lip and looked away mumbling, "I don't wanna hurt you. Please just-"

His excuse died on his lips as he caught a quick glance of Tyler's warm smile before his vision was filled with soft blue locks and there were warm arms gently embracing him. "Don't worry, you won't."

Martin yearned to push him away, insist that what was happening was not a good idea, beg him to leave Martin before Martin could not bear to let him go. But Tyler had given him a brief respite from his pit of loneliness and self-loathing, and returning to that place terrified him.

So, Martin returned the hug and inhaled Tyler's scent, allowing himself this one instance of selfishness, the first he had ever indulged.

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Fast forward half a year later. Tyler and Martin in the middle of not quite living together (mostly because of Martin's panic about his- _Flippy's_ -secret) but spending enough time at each other's apartments, mostly Tyler's studio, to be considered roommates. Martin wanting to be happy because Tyler makes him want to be happy, but remembering that Flippy's murders have not stopped and not allowing himself to be. What would Tyler, wonderful, bright, kind Tyler, think if he knew about the monster Martin was housing? Martin didn't even want to consider it.

Three things happened within the six-months of bliss/panic. The first was Martin's meeting Taylor, Tyler's fraternal twin brother. The two were complete inversions of each other, Tyler's hair and eyes royal blue while Taylor's were crimson red. Taylor worked as a photographer alongside Tyler, but despite their similar features and occupations, the two did not get along. They argued constantly and Taylor, once getting the gist of Martin's relationship to his brother, teased Tyler constantly which usually ended with Tyler quietly ordering his brother to leave, only refraining from punching Taylor for the sake of not upsetting Martin. Though, when away from each other, the twins spoke highly of one another and expressed a brotherly loyalty that would shock anyone who witnessed their fights. Tyler told Martin that he and Taylor were orphans who had been taken in by a childless couple who raised the twins in a small cottage in the country. Even as children, the two had argued but had also been inseparable, confiding what they could not share with their adopted parents Terrence and Laura Price only in each other.

The second thing that happened was that Tyler became the first person to tell Martin he loved him. There was nothing particularly special that preceded the statement. The two were snuggling on the couch watching some second-rate comedy when Tyler shifted, burying his cheek further into Martin's chest and said, "I love you."

Martin blinked, his heart stuttered, and tears arrived and travelled unbidden down his cheeks. Tyler loved him? Loved _him_? How? Why? His silence must have worried Tyler because he lifted his head from Martin's chest and turned with furrowed brows to meet Martin's eyes.

Apologies ran from his mouth upon seeing Martin's tears. "I'm sorry! Did I upset you?!" Martin only shook his head and laughed, grabbing Tyler's hands gently.

After a few moments of both laughing and crying, Martin finally got out, "No one- No one's ever said that to me before." He tightened his grip on Tyler's hands. "Sorry, I'm trying to thank you. Thank you and," He looked into Tyler's eyes, a rare smile splitting his face, and Tyler looked back at him shocked. "I love you too!" Martin laughed again as Tyler's eyes welled with tears and his lower lip trembled adorably.

Flippy ' _tsk'd_ ' and said, " _You can't love someone you don't know Martin. And Ty don't know you, not_ _really_ _."_

Martin couldn't care less about whatever derision Flippy uttered at that moment. Forehead to forehead, he and Tyler sat, both their tears and their breathy laughter mingling.

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Alongside Flippy, there were two other names that were constantly on the lips of the Treeopolis citizens. Once a bedlam of crime, Treeopolis saw its redemption when Splendid and Splendont arrived in the city. The blue and red super humans swept in suddenly and cleaned up the streets of Treeopolis in record time. With the increasing panic over Flippy, the two heroes, decked in matching red and blue track suits and sneakers, promised the citizens during an impromptu interview that Flippy would be stopped by whatever means necessary.

Martin came face to face with the crime fighting duo, marking the third event.

Flippy's interruptions into his daily thought processes had become more frequent and Martin became increasingly worried that he would hurt Tyler. These worries consumed his focus as he walked to work, gnawing on his lip and failing to notice the new construction site- _that was thankfully not active when he was passing; the commotion could have triggered Flippy_ -he was walking by.

It was one of those cliché moments, in all honesty. A beam, which hung precariously from one of the cranes, broke from its support and, with a grace peculiar to the inanimate, fell to meet the earth beneath it.

Martin looked up when he heard people screaming, staring confused as they all seemed to be yelling at him and pointing above his head at something. Sluggishly, he followed their indicating fingers with his eyes and found that his view of the sun was blocked. As the obtrusive object grew larger, it dawned on Martin that something was going to fall on him prompting the thought that he should probably move.

But he didn't. Flippy demanded him to but he resisted that instinct of self-preservation. Because, after all, wouldn't it be better this way? Martin could never stomach the thought let alone the act of killing himself. There were many times he had wanted to but found he was afraid of the unbearable nothingness he imagined death to be and which Flippy had forced onto so many people.

This way though, his death would not really be by his own hand; it would be an accident and no one would be blamed. And Tyler would be safe. _Everyone_ would be safe but Tyler especially. So he stood and stared at the metal beam hurtling toward him and felt a sense of acceptance upon closing his eyes.

But the impact he was awaiting never came. Confused and a bit annoyed, Martin pried his eyes open and connected them with familiar blue irises. Tyler? How-? But then he noticed the mask wrapped around the eyes and the track suit and the beam being held in the air by this figure who floated a few feet from the ground.

It took him a few more seconds to realize the superhero- _the blue one was Splendid, right?_ -was speaking, yelling at him. He forced his auditory functions to turn back on.

"Martin, hey! Are you okay?!" With one hand still supporting the beam, Splendid lightly patted Martin's face with the other, concerned.

Martin blinked slowly. "How- how do you know my name?" Shocked realization appeared on the hero's face and the warm hand pressed to Martin's check fell away. Martin immediately missed it.

Then a voice full of irritation, "Hey! Let's go! We have to get to the robbery site!" Splendid and Martin both looked up at Splendont who scowled down from his position higher up.

Splendid spared Martin one last glance before flying the beam back to the construction site and zooming off with Splendont in the direction of downtown. Martin simply stared at the space where the two heroes had been, wondering what he exactly he should feel.

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That same night, perhaps in some sort of celebration for being alive, Flippy killed three people, one a little girl with messy red hair, and Martin awoke the next morning in his apartment, surrounded by blood soaked clothes on the bathroom floor.

Numbly, Martin threw the articles in a garbage bag to be added to the combustible trash, ignored Tyler's worried phone calls and texts, and fervently wished Splendid had done the right thing and let him die.

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 _Everyone's got a dark side, ne. But some are more crippling than others._

 _Thank you for reading._


	5. Chapter 5

He felt incredibly heavy. As if he were sinking further down into freezing waters, any chance of floating to the surface negated by a cinderblock tied around his middle. But that was fine. Or rather, it would have been if there hadn't been a constant disruption to the silence by an incessant sound that was like a submarine's sonar. What the hell _was_ that?

What couldn't be identified by sound alone could be clarified by sight so he began the painstaking process of opening his eyes. White light greeted his unprepared corneas and he shut his eyes in protest.

"Martin?"

That voice. Martin remembered that voice and was reminded of what he had done and what he had failed to do. He would have laughed but the amount of self-disgust he was feeling presented him with unbearable nausea. It was obvious now where he was.

Apprehensively, Martin allowed his lids to rise and without moving his head- _he really would have thrown up if he had_ -looked over to Tyler who was hovering over him in what appeared to be mid-lunge.

Martin had no idea what to say, so he only watched sadly as Tyler's expression collapsed and tears drowned his face. And to Tyler's keened cries of, "You _idiot_! Why would you do that?! Why?!" which were presses despairingly into Martins' hospital gown covered chest, Martin could only weakly run his fingers through Tyler's hair and whisper "I'm sorry."

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His suicide watch extended beyond the sterile walls of the hospital. Encouraged by Martin's psychiatrist, Tyler gently but firmly insisted that Martin live with him for a while (the invitation to stay longer didn't need to be voiced). Any opposition Martin had tried to raise was quickly soothed into silence.

Flippy, Martin's only reason for reservation, had been absent since his night with sertraline, paroxetine, and whiskey. That failed to put Martin at ease though; his resident monster could be missing for months at a time only to come back with a more insatiable bloodlust. The fear that he would fall asleep and wake to the sight of Tyler's blood on his hands kept him in a constant state of insomnia which Tyler's remedies of warm milk, humming, and soft fingers through Martin's hair did little to nothing to help.

Tyler took complete authority over Martin's medication, dispensing only what he needed before stowing the plastic bottles away. There were times when all Martin could do was stare at the seemingly innocuous tablets in his palm without making any moves to swallow them. He just didn't see the point. When had they ever helped before? When had they ever stopped him from steeping himself and so many others further into regret and anger and fear? The only reason Martin took the pills at all was the worried line that seemed to be now forever etched into Tyler's face and the pain which had begun to become a permanent feature in his beautiful sapphire eyes. The small easing of Tyler's face made the effort worth it.

His dosage had been slightly increased which left him in a state of static apathy, barely finding motivation to move from Tyler's ( _their_ Tyler liked to remind him) bed and staring at the wall for hours on end. One night Tyler had come back to the sight of him standing catatonically in front of the coffee machine, freeze framed in a depiction of regular morning routine. Tyler's hand lightly landing on his shoulder shocked him out of his trance and when he asked Tyler why he was back so soon- _didn't I just see him off?_ -the reporter simply shook his head and eased the cup of cold coffee from Martin's stiff fingers before leading him to the bedroom.

The doctor's permission for Martin to go back to work couldn't have come any sooner. If he hadn't already been sure he was crazy, he would have complained that the monotony of the apartment and the silence that seeped in whenever Tyler went out would drive him to insanity. More than easing personal restlessness, Martin wanted- _needed_ -to go back to his job, menial as it was, to rid himself of the prodding realization of his becoming a burden on Tyler. He knew if he voiced this, Tyler would only return with an immediate denial and see Martin's thought process as just another reason why he wasn't ready to return to work. So, as usual, Martin kept silent. But thankfully, so did Flippy.

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Martin tentatively eased himself back into his daily routine with deviations as to his routes to and from work as well as an added guaranteed smile from Tyler upon his return. The question of the morality of his own existence still occupied his mind, but with less frequency than before. What could be more selfish than allowing yourself to love and to be loved? Though he would never forgive himself for the evils he had committed, Martin finally had something visceral and wonderful that he knew he would never be able to leave ever again.

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He had left a little later from work than usual. Tyler was only appeased for twenty minutes by Martin's text assuring him of his safety. Martin quickly typed out another message as he walked the streets of the city blanketed by the darkness of night. He smiled at the mental image of Tyler in his comically frilly apron, tapping his foot as he stood in the kitchen in a scene of domestic impatience. A warmth and calm spread through his chest at the thought.

Suddenly a chill, and a child's voice eerily breaking and entering into the silence.

 _That's not fair._ Martin froze in fear, his breath caught in the place where the warmth had lately been. He begged himself to keep walking, willed himself to ignore the inexplicable urge to turn and acknowledge the voice.

Why did he never listen to himself?

He turned and the girl with the red hair- _the girl he, no, the girl Flippy had killed_ -standing across from him in the alleyway. How, how, _how how-?!_

 _It's not fair._ She repeated monotonously tilting her head, the blood following the shifting flow of her hair. She was wearing the same dress as the night she died- _was killed she's dead how_ -the serene blue pattern intermittently interrupted with blotches of red. Martin took a step back as she stepped forward. _Why do you get to be happy? It's not fair._ Brick wall met Martin's back and he jumped, his knees barely able to support him.

Another voice to his left diverted his attention. It was a man appearing to be in his mid-thirties who was probably glaring at him. His unoccupied eye sockets made it hard to tell.

 _I had a wife and a kid on the way. A_ _ **family**_ _. You took that from me._

"I-I-" Martin was trembling too hard to even form a coherent response. Several voice assaulted his ears as one by one Flippy's victims approached him.

Then, _Did you really think you could get rid of me?_ Flippy was at Martin's ear; he didn't have to turn and look to confirm it.

"A little." Martin murmured in reply.

 _That was pretty dumb, don't ya think?_ Yes, of course it was. Why would a suicide attempt of all things free Martin from this demon? He was a fool and he should have died that night on the bathroom tiles. And he would have…if not for Tyler. But what had he done to deserve Tyler? His hands were drenched in blood that he could never hope to wash off. Martin was damaged beyond repaired, a broken soldier who truthfully shouldn't have made it out of those trenches of hell.

Two men in masks carefully rounded the corner into the alley unaware of Martin and his ghosts. An alarm sounded somewhere in the distance and the two newcomers snickered, naïve and oblivious.

A hand on his shoulder. _Time to get back to work Marty._ They both knew to refuse was useless.

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 _Well, well. Flippy's in the hot seat now. Ne, no matter how fast you run your demons will always be right behind you, and sometimes right in front of you._

 _Thank you for reading._


	6. Chapter 6

If he had to choose one word to describe Martin it would be "gentle". He had been gentle when Tyler had pestered him for a story. He was gentle when they made love, almost enough to make Tyler cry. And even after Martin had almost died, alone on the tile with the orange plastic and clear glass bottles, his foremost concern upon waking was the pain he had caused Tyler. The more time he spent with Martin, the more incredulous Tyler became at every reminder that he was truly a war veteran. He imagined the torment which someone so gentle must have faced on the battlefield and he saw proof of it in the nightmares which chronically wrenched Martin from his sleep. And it always seemed that the fear stayed with him just under the surface of his gentleness. Every move he made told Tyler that what Martin was afraid of was not the demons in his sleep but the possibility of hurting someone, hurting Tyler. It took everything in Tyler not to explain to Martin that he never could.

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Tyler was indestructible. Always had been, even when he should have been nothing but vulnerable.

No symbol of hope belonging to some other world was found with Taylor and Tyler when they were carried through the doorway of a small, rural town's local orphanage. When they discovered their abilities, they were concerned less with their origins than with the fun to be had.

Laura Price, their adopted mother, fed up with their antics, was the one who suggested that Taylor and Tyler make their powers useful to something besides their own entertainment. At first, it was stuff like moving around the larger farm equipment that even their father Terrence couldn't hope of lifting (much to his chagrin). After a hard day of work Laura would greet the three men with lemonade and a, "Splendid work you three."

Once they moved to the city, the incessant crime convinced the twins that their powers could find another use. They agreed right away that they would keep their identities secret and vehemently swore against the use of spandex. Tyler suggested track suits- _Hey, they're comfortable!_ -and Taylor offered the idea of simply cloth masks to place over their eyes.

Remembering Laura's habitual phrase, Tyler took the name Splendid while Taylor, true to his obstinately contrary nature, decided on Splendont. Tyler's ire was pointedly ignored.

The relationship Tyler and Martin had developed was not something the reporter expected upon their first encounter. He was simply curious at first, but soon enough he found himself drawn to Martin's gentle melancholy and he quickly fell in love with the veteran's constant kindness. Tyler would never be able to describe the sheer amount of powerlessness, something so new and so novel, he felt when he found Martin on the bathroom floor, his pulse a faint movement beneath Tyler's fingertips.

Never had the strength which existed within his sinews seemed so entirely useless as when he sat numbly in the waiting room, awaiting the doctor's verdict. When after two painfully long days, Martin's emerald eyes met his, Tyler swore he would never let this happen again. He would save Martin from himself.

Worry began to eat away at his mind when an hour passed and Martin had yet to walk through the door. He stared at his phone, anticipating the screen change that indicated an incoming call, displaying a secretly taken photo of Martin during one of his more peaceful nights. It never came.

Unable to take it anymore, Tyler quickly donned his suit and mask and after making sure he remained unseen, flew off into the buzzing night.

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A loud alarm interrupted his search. Tyler hovered in the air, torn, as he scanned his surroundings for that mess of green hair. Cursing softly, he flew in the direction of the blare.

He landed in an alley a few blocks from the crime scene and nearly reeled from the smell. _Blood_. And lots of it. Tensing, Tyler quickly adjusted his eyes to the darkness and followed the sound of monotonous squelching. It stopped as he drew near.

"Another one, huh? Must be my lucky day." The gravelly voice let out a quiet chuckle.

Tyler narrowed his eyes further. It was _him_. It _had_ to be.

"Come out with your hands up and maybe I won't hurt you, you sick fuck." This bastard, this _Flippy_ (the asshole wrote that name at every crime scene, using his victims' blood like finger paint) didn't deserve mercy.

The voice got closer. "Is that so?" The figure stepped into the sliver of light provided by the moon. Tyler wished he hadn't.

Everything the same as when he saw him off that morning. Everything except this blood that wasn't his and eyes, golden eyes that _couldn't have been_ his.

"Well shit, it's the hero." Martin-no, Flippy-said. He ran his hand down his face in mock exasperation, spreading the blood across his skin.

"Martin-" Tyler tried to say more but saltwater filled his mouth after filling his eyes. The other frowned and peeked at Tyler through his fingers.

"Do I know you?"

Tyler took a silent step forward and shook his head. This wasn't Martin. No, it couldn't be. Where were those kind and sad green eyes? Where had Martin gone?

Suddenly, Tyler's legs gave out and he landed _hard_ on the unforgiving concrete under unforgiving eyes- not Martin's not Martin. He felt sick. No, not just because what he was seeing was leaving his mind blank with how _not_ Martin the figure in front of him was. There was something else. Something that forced the feeling from his limbs and brought him low with wave after wave of debilitating nausea.

A glow, bright enough to burn, hit the side of Tyler's face causing him to lower his head closer to the ground to avoid it. Feet came nearer to his face, and with them an amplification of that awful feeling.

"What the hell?" Tyler raised his eyes at the rhetorical, squinting at the green fluorescent object in the other man's hand. Flippy looked incredulously from the glowing-was that some kind of rock? -object in his hand to Tyler's crumpled form.

A chuckle slipped from Flippy's mouth followed by a long, full blown laugh. Finally, after a few fits and starts, "Oh this is too fucking good!" Tyler gritted his teeth helplessly as Flippy knelt in front of him, holding the glowing rock tauntingly. The hero coughed wetly, stunned by the copper taste that filled and spilled from his mouth, "This is like your kryptonite, right?" Flippy put the object on the ground beside Tyler's face and the nearly prone superhuman couldn't fight the whimper that leaked from his bleeding mouth.

"Well, it's only fair. Now the playing field's level." Flippy grasped the fabric around Tyler's eyes. "Let's level it a little more~" As the mask was snatched off his face, Tyler kept his eyes trained on the expression the other man wore.

Both men froze. The red cloth dropped uninterrupted to the ground.

"T-Tyler?" For a second green fought against gold and Martin was Martin again.

Tyler sobbed as more blood filled his mouth. "Mar-"

The blare of an alarm's louder encore complete with a chorus of frantic sirens shocked them both.

Gold reclaimed Martin's eyes. "Shit!" Flippy swore, quickly grabbing the stone and rising in one smooth movement before turning on his heel and bolting off into the darkness.

Tyler stared after the retreating form until his tears made it impossible to see.

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 _And so, the three-way standoff commences. Spoilers: No one walks away unharmed from this one, each a little less whole than before, ne._

 _Thank you for reading._


	7. Chapter 7

The pain was more of a close memory than a present sensation now. Only the external physical pain was gone though. His head and his heart were both still threatening to explode, leaving him in the exact same position as when Martin-no, Flippy had left. One of the strongest beings on the planet no longer had enough strength left to do anything more than lie face down in the alley.

Tyler's eyes were open, but he wasn't seeing anything. For whatever amount of time he had been there, he had replayed the previous mind-shattering scene over and over again. It shouldn't have been possible, any of it. But he was numb and reeling precisely because it had happened, it _was_ possible apparently.

But he didn't want it to be. So, he let himself succumb to the temptation of denial, if only for a moment.

For better or worse, Taylor was always his wake-up call.

"What the _hell_ are you doing? Don't you hear the sirens?" He _had_ but they had spectacularly failed to register in his lagging mind.

Taylor's voice took on more of a concerned edge as Tyler didn't respond-didn't even move.

"Hey what's with you?!" Taylor bent down to his brother's level and Tyler watched as his expression alternated between variations of shocked and horrified. "Is that _your_ blood?" When he received no answer, Taylor essentially screeched, "Ty what the fuck happened?!"

Tyler moaned feebly, unable to even grit out a "No" to get Taylor to stop asking him to relay his own trauma. If he did what would Taylor do to Martin? What would happen to Martin if he said nothing?

For the brief moment in which Martin was Martin, he saw it.

Guilt. Horror at what he had done and fear and regret shining in emerald eyes. Martin hadn't done those horrible things, even if Flippy had.

Struggling, Tyler brought himself to his knees. With the stone gone, he was able to move again though he still felt the lingering effects. Biting the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the pain, he stood shakily only to immediately have his knees buckle. He probably would have fell back to the pavement had Taylor not looped an arm around his chest to steady him. He would have thanked him, but Taylor didn't give him the chance.

"Tell me. Now." It wasn't often that Taylor used that older brother, authoritative tone. The fact that he _was_ using it meant he wouldn't let Tyler go until he knew everything. And at the moment, Tyler's strength was seriously diminished so there was no possibility of fighting Taylor. Making his hold less of an assist and more of a restraint. Damn him.

"L-later-"

"No, not later Tyler, now!" Taylor turned him so that their eyes met, holding Tyler by his shoulders. "Who did this?!" When Tyler only shook his head, Taylor's tone softened. "Come on Ty, tell me."

Wordlessly, Tyler's eyes slid to the end of the alleyway behind them. Taylor's followed then widened in sudden realization.

"Holy shit." He breathed out. "It was him? Flippy?" Tyler flinched and nodded reluctantly. "But you…how…" Taylor finished his question by nodding to Tyler's bloodied form.

"I don't _know_." Tyler all but sobbed, tears returning to his eyes. Shocked, Taylor simply watched him for a moment.

"Was he-" Taylor paused to wet his lips. "Is he like us? Does he have powers?"

Tyler shook his head weakly and fought back another onslaught of tears. He would just alarm Taylor more if he continued to cry. Taylor was really worried about him, he could see that, but he knew what Taylor would do to Martin if he didn't choose his words carefully.

"He had some kind of glowing rock or something." His breath came out in a shudder. "I don't know what it was but as soon as he brought it near me I- I don't know. I just felt weak, like I've never felt before, and blood just started coming from my mouth. I felt like I was dying." Tyler trailed off and simply looked at Taylor whose expression became almost unreadable. Almost.

"You don't believe me."

Taylor's eyes snapped back to his. "No, I- I do. It's just," he paused to think, "why didn't he kill you?" Tyler must have looked taken aback because Taylor rushed into explanation. "I mean, if you were as vulnerable as you say you were, why did he just leave? Unless…Your mask!" Tyler jumped at Taylor's sudden shift in tone. "He saw your face Ty! He's probably gonna come back for you now that he knows what you look like and that he can hurt you, the fucking bastard! I'll kill him."

Tyler shuddered at the last three words that were more growled than said. Taylor took it as fear for his own personal safety.

"Don't worry. You won't be alone this time, but we have to find him quick. We can't risk him figuring out how strong his hand is."

Taylor made to move away with Tyler in tow, probably to fly off, but Tyler resisted.

"Ty-"

" _Please_." Tyler's voice broke and he had to bite his lip to steady himself. He _had_ to tell Taylor. If he didn't and he found out later…well Taylor never had been good with surprises. After a shaky breath, "I know who he is and probably where to find him." Before Taylor could say anything, he looked into his brother's eyes, conveying his desperation through the connection. "And I'll tell you, but you have to promise me you'll let me handle it." Taylor remained silent, but refusal swirled in his eyes. " _Promise me_ Taylor."

Taylor sighed and said, "As long as it stops short of you getting yourself killed, then okay, I promise." That would have to do.

Nausea returned as Tyler tried to form the words in his head before having to speak them aloud. They were just two words, two little words. But those two words and the reality behind them were enough to tear his world down all over again. The truth of the facts he witnessed weren't dependent on whether or not they were spoken but his own acceptance of it tragically was. Sadder still, he wasn't completely sure what he was going to do after he verbally sealed two-not one-fates with two words.

He would just have to find out.

"It's Martin."

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 _Ne, now it's out in the open for better or for worse. A statement is a confrontation in and of itself._

 _Thank you for reading._


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